


Set Play

by calasin



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - Pitch (TV Series), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, bellarke AU, it's about football aka soccer, it's gonna be an angsty one, largely inspired by those gifs and videos of bob morley playing that charity game, minor mention of lexa, seriously this is purely bellarke because i am trash for this ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calasin/pseuds/calasin
Summary: Clarke Griffin is many things, the first female footballer in the Premier League, the daughter of one of the most revolutionary coaches in the world and now...the sworn enemy of her new captain, Bellamy Blake - who slapped her ass on her first day.Bellamy Blake isn’t anything like what she expected. Determined to prove herself, to the world and to Bellamy, she ends up needing to enlist his help as she navigates the world of professional football. Falling for her captain would be a mistake, especially when she’s trying to dethrone him at the same time.





	Set Play

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey! This is my first fanfiction, so please be gentle!
> 
> It's a Pitch AU but football (soccer) instead of baseball. AKA the greatest show ever that did not deserve to be cancelled and I will cry about it to anyone who will listen. I’m English so just presume this is set in England or something – mostly because I am writing in British English and also because I would not be caught dead writing about the MLS. I originally thought I'd do a quick one-shot but...it grew...and now I don't know how long it will be. I hope you enjoy and if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it!!

“Hey girlie, you lost?”

The comment comes from the far left corner of the room and Clarke turns to see John Murphy smirking insufferably at her. Her first day in the locker room and as the first female footballer in the team, she expected nothing less, if not much worse, from her teammates.

Looking for a sympathetic face would be a fruitless endeavour and Clarke has been a part of all-male dressing rooms for far too long to even try it. Instead, she casts her best disdainful look towards the room; receiving an even split between open hostility and polite neutrality.

“Not as lost as you are on the pitch, Murphy. When was the last time you were even on one?”

Her comment earns her a few quiet sniggers and a sour look from Murphy but she’s not naïve enough to think this will be the last time she will face shit-housing like this. The trick is to act like you’re above it all, like the casual misogyny doesn’t faze you. Clarke does not let her cool façade slip, she has had years of practice.

Instead, she marches over to the nearest spare locker and begins to get changed as quickly and efficiently as possible – it gets her a few wolf whistles but again, it’s nothing she hasn’t ever faced before. She’s in the middle of jerking her shorts on, still in her sports bra when Bellamy Blake walks into the room.

Captain of FC Arcadia, the best defensive midfielder in the world and still criminally underrated because his position doesn’t lead to flashy goals or important tackles. It’s more like he’s the heart of the team, directing tempo and play, with a vision of the game so sharp it’s as though he has a bird’s eye view of the pitch. Blake is selfless in his play too; from the hours of footage she’s seen of him play, he is always looking to set up someone else instead of going for the glory of the goal himself. Clarke knows for certain, her father would have loved him – Bellamy Blake embodied the principles Jake Griffin tried to teach all his players.

He looks shorter in person, but still broad and imposing – dark, unruly hair falling into sharp, intelligent brown eyes and a bone structure to die for. Clarke is big enough to admit – to herself only – that he is beautiful, which is why he has featured in her sketchbook one or two times. Nothing pervy…just tasteful sketches of him playing football. He is also her favourite player, the one she aspires to be like and part of the reason she was so desperate to sign for FC Arcadia in the first place.

She steps forward to introduce herself.

“Hi, I-“

It’s a complete shock when the first thing he does is slap her ass.

“Rookie,” he adds in acknowledgment. “Welcome.”

Oh for fuck’s sake…not him too. Clarke resists the urge to start screaming bloody murder, or quite possibly wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze. Instead, she is all righteous indignation when she turns to face him.

“Oh I bet you think that’s funny, huh? You think you’re the first teammate – the first guy to slap my ass, you misogynistic asshole? I’ve played for shittier clubs in shittier leagues with shittier pricks than you!”

She steps into his personal space, not letting the few inches he has over her intimidate her, eyes blazing and shoulders squared, “Find someone else’s ass to slap because if you touch me again I’ll break your fucking hand.”

His face is impassive, eyebrow quirked.

Clarke continues glaring at him. “Any questions?”

The rest of the squad seems to have been stunned into silence. Bellamy raises his hand.

Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes, “Yes?”

“Hi. Welcome to Arcadia. I slap asses. It’s my thing. I slap Miller’s ugly ass, Murphy’s hairy ass, Monty’s skinny ass…and as long as you’re on this team, I will be slapping your perfect round ass, rookie.”

She gapes at him, incredulous. What the fuck?

“I am also your captain. So from now on, when I slap your ass, you just say, ‘Thank you, sir, may I have another?’ and move on with your day.”

Fury like she has never known rises in her chest. She stares him down, fists clenched and pictures in detail how satisfying it would be just to smack him right there and then. Of course that would probably lead to her getting fired and never playing football again. So Clarke grits her teeth instead and gives him the most derisive look she can muster.

True to his word, he does slap everyone else’s derriere as they filter out of the locker room, but he doesn’t try Clarke again. She’s thankful, because if he had, she’s not sure she would have been able to stop herself from assaulting him.

Well, she thinks, this is why people say you should never meet your heroes. Bellamy Blake is a toilet gurgler of a human being, a disappointment on a similar level to raisins that masquerade as chocolate chips in cookies. Probably worse. God have him talent and looks and forgot to add basic human decency. She’s not sure why she expected him to be different to all the other egotistical footballers out there, but she knows she is going to do everything in her power to take his starting spot.

 

*

 

As always, the pitch itself is immaculate; dark green grass cut precisely, intersected with painted white lines, the smell of it sharp and bright just like Clarke remembers from her childhood.

Above her, three tiers of claret, navy, then claret again, rise unbelievably high – the pews of this temple of football. Ark Stadium is a magnificent edifice to football; the largest stadium in the world with a capacity of 120,000 people and the home of FC Arcadia. Her father’s beloved club, now her own. It is a massive legacy that rides on her shoulders.

The fact that she’s female, the first woman to play for a club in the first division and all the associated misogynistic baggage that comes with it…well that’s just an added bonus. Any normal, sane human would have cracked under the pressure by now. From the constant death threats to the unrealistic expectations, it would be easy to let the off-pitch semantics take over and drown her. But Clarke Griffin has mastered the art of looking nonchalant in all situations – breakdowns are only allowed in the privacy of her own bathroom, nowhere else.

At the end of the day though, loving football came as easily as breathing to her. Everything else disappeared once the ball was at her feet.

So as she takes her first step onto the pitch to cheers and jeers alike, she shoves everything she’s feeling – the nerves, the excitement, the fear – deep in the recesses of her mind. The club President, Marcus Kane, introduces her and then she’s passed a football. She does simple, neat tricks; flicks the ball up a few times, but the expectations – her own and of the fans – seem to stretch taller than the stadium itself.

 

*

 

The physical aspect of training goes a lot better. Once she’s on the grass, her body takes over, running through drills effortlessly; a testament to the sheer amount of work she puts in to maintain this level of fitness. She could feel the others watching her, although whether they’re impressed or not, she can’t tell. Her muscles burn with exertion but she keeps going with a single-minded determination.

So far, spite has never let her down as a motivational factor and she’s planning on living a long life filled with it. 

By the time they start rondos though, she is struggling – albeit not as much as Murphy or Jasper. She files into a rough circle with the rest of her teammates around Bellamy and Miller. It’s a sophisticated piggy-in-the-middle, the circle passing the ball to each other and the players in the middle trying to dispossess them. Whoever loses possession to them replaces them in the centre.

Clarke’s previous coaches never focused that much on rondos but she has good positional awareness, thinks she should be passably good at this. She’s wrong. She manages three passes before screwing up; Bellamy intercepts her pass to Jasper when she tries to put it through his legs. He smirks as he passes to take her spot in the circle and she tries to control the sudden flare of rage she feels. The way her teammates are looking at her, it’s like they expected her to lose – the lack of respect drives her insane.

From the moment they start again, she is a hellish demon, chasing every ball, pressing the weakest links into making a mistake and it isn’t long before Murphy misplaces a pass. She grins in her victory but her teammates still look unimpressed. Clarke supresses the tiny bit of her that had been looking for validation from them, reminding herself that she doesn’t need their approval.

“You need to take two touches max, Griffin,” Bellamy grunts.

“Cut her some slack, it must be the time of the month,” Murphy sneers.

Clarke ignores it all.

 

*

 

Somewhat surprisingly, it is Monty Green who is the first person to approach her after training.

“Hi, I’m Monty,” his smile seems sincere. It is slightly mind-blowing to Clarke that the first person to approach her would be the guy whose starting spot she’s most likely to take.

“Nice to meet you,” she smiles hesitantly back at him, she can’t help it, he is radiating niceness. Despite the fact that her default setting is being immediately suspicious of any kindness from teammates, Clarke feels like Monty might be one of the few exceptions to the assholes in this game.

Monty pushes his fringe back from his eyes, looking about half as awkward as Clarke feels.

“You settling into Arcadia okay? Found a place to live yet?”

“Yeah, I mean I’m just in a hotel for now but it’s not too bad,” she shrugs.

“Oh well, I was going to offer to show you around but I guess you’re already pretty familiar, huh?”

“I’m a born and bred Arcadian and I bet nothing here has changed at all. The city or the club,” Clarke smiles wryly and Monty smiles back.

Monty’s expression turns serious. “Hey, so…don’t mind Bellamy. He can definitely rub you the wrong way, but he means well.”

“I’d like to rub you up the wrong way!” Dax, one of the guys who is notorious for his dirty fouls, shouts from two lockers down. Clarke balls up her sweaty sock and sends it flying straight into his face. He looks absolutely enraged and she smiles smugly.

“Girl’s got spunk…I like that,” Murphy taunts.

Before Clarke can get out the scathing remark at the tip of her tongue, Wells’ voice booms across the room.

“Enough!”

He is on his feet, looking absolutely murderous. “You all may be assholes, but we are first and foremost professionals who are all here to play for this club. Clarke isn’t any different. If anyone makes another comment like that about her I will kick their ass. Got it?”

Wells is a mountain of a man, a 6’2 mass of muscle which you forget about because his usual demeanour is a lot more shy and demure than you would expect. Towering over everyone like this, filled with rage though? That’s when you remember exactly who you’re dealing with.

Clarke feels an acute sense of déjà vu to ten years ago when something like this, Wells Jaha standing up for her, was an everyday occurrence. It passes quickly and then she is just plain annoyed.

Murphy and Dax both look suitably chastised but she doesn’t even acknowledge them, or Wells. They may have been friends a long time ago and he may have tried to come to her ‘rescue’ yet again, but that didn’t mean she forgave him.

 

*

 

It takes a few weeks of training but Clarke finds herself becoming slightly friendly towards a few of her teammates.

Almost everyone has come to tolerate, if not fully accept her presence with the notable exception of Murphy and Dax. Mostly, she thinks she has shown them that her skill and stamina is on par with everyone else and whilst they may not believe she deserves to be here, she’s really not going anywhere.

Monty is continuing to be a steadfast friend and avenue of support, partnering up with her for exercises in training and offering advice about their other teammates. Of course, he is part of a package deal – where Monty goes, Jasper Jordan follows and vice versa. It’s clear to see why Monty and Jasper are such a good fit – both on and off the pitch. They constantly riff off each other and have inside jokes about everything. It’s kind of nice to see teammates this close. Clarke reminds herself that they’re both still so young – Jasper is eighteen and fresh out of FC Arcadia’s academy and Monty is only a year or two older. She doesn’t quite understand why they’re being so nice to her, Monty especially whose position she normally plays in.  
Maybe they think you’re not competition, the ugly voice in her head reminds her.

She shakes her head to clear the thought. No, they just seem like good kids.

Bellamy is…not hostile, more pretending she doesn’t exist. He slaps her ass, like everyone else’s when they file out onto the pitch and instead of just taking it she has started returning the favour. The first time she did it, he initially looked so scandalised she had to bite down on a triumphant smile, but he quickly morphed his face into the practiced, trademarked Bellamy smirk. Honestly, it kind of made her whole week. All in all, she feels as though they have built up a truce of sorts, which is why she gets the confidence to approach him after a particularly gruelling training session.

“Bellamy?” He’s got one earphone in and is typing away furiously on his phone as she goes to stand in front of him. He looks up and acknowledges her with a grunt before going back to his phone. His shower has left his hair darker, plastered to his head and it makes his cheekbones stand out in stark relief. This close, the freckles on his skin jump out at her and she thinks embarrassingly of her sketchbook at home which may or may not contain a few depictions of him. None with freckles. It’s not her fault he has aesthetically pleasing features, and that before she had the displeasure of actually meeting him, he had been her idol. Plus, it’s not like he’s the only footballer she’s ever drawn…it doesn’t mean anything. She wills the blush rising on her cheeks to go away.

“I was hoping you’d be able to give me some tips.”

At this Bellamy’s smirk returns in full force, “If this is you trying to get in my pants, rookie, we have a no fraternization rule here.”

Clarke scoffs, rolling her eyes, “Even if I were blind, desperate, starved and begging for it on a desert island, you’d be the last thing I’d ever fuck.”

“Scarface.” He nods in acknowledgement, smiling slightly. “Cute. What do you want?”

“I want you to mentor me. The club doesn’t have a replacement for you, there is no one in the youth system who plays like you, no one on the market who even comes close. I need to understand why and how you see the game like you do.”

His short, sharp, scornful burst of laughter startles her.

“No offense Griffin, but you’re a gimmick. You have no future at this club, you’re here because of your surname and because the president is your step-father and the board thought you would sell tickets. You’re a shiny new toy we’re going to play maybe once or twice for ten minutes and then you’re done. So just enjoy your time here, and try not to get in my way.”

Before she has the chance to even formulate a reply, he abruptly stands up, grabs his stuff and walks out.

 

*

 

Clarke is way too exhausted and still fuming from her interaction with Belammy that night to deal with Raven Reyes, but there she is, waiting at the door of her hotel room.

“Hey superstar! How was your day?”

This was the problem with having your PR manager and agent be your best friend – and the only person you knew in town. She couldn’t exactly get rid of her. Plus, Raven was used to Clarke’s irritable behaviour. She had been by her side for the last two years, working her ass off to get them both here – throughout it all, Clarke had to bottle up her emotions at work so she didn’t come off as just another ‘hysterical’ woman. Raven was the one who got the pleasure of being at the end of all her emotional breakdowns at home.

Clarke shrugs in response, letting them both into her hotel room. She drops her bag, too exhausted to shower and collapses on the sofa.

“I’ve already spoken to Kane; you have to do press soon if you want to keep him happy. Maybe just an interview with one of the big newspapers? I’ve got a photoshoot set up next weekend…” Raven trails off at the sight of Clarke’s expression.

“That bad, huh? I ordered Chinese already, it should be here soon.”

“I’m not supposed to eat that.”

“One meal won’t kill you.” Raven waves her hand dismissively. “So, what happened? Blake again?”

“He is fucking insufferable. As if it wasn’t enough that he has apparently taken it upon himself to slap everyone’s ass–“

“Yeah, what a prick. Bellamy Blake slapping my ass has never been part of any of my fantasies…”

Clarke does not give Raven the satisfaction of rolling her eyes or reacting to her comment in any way and continues with her rant. “He also had the audacity to claim that I’m a gimmick. He’s never even seen me play, he has no idea what I can and can’t do! I train just as hard as he does!”

“Don’t hold back now.” Raven settles onto Clarke’s bed and Clarke stretches out beside her, sulking.

“Life would be so much easier if I just had a penis,” she huffs out.

“But how would we make money if you weren’t a gimmick?”

Raven’s teasing earns her a pillow to the face. Clarke is loath to admit it but spending time with Raven was exactly what she needed to de-stress after the day she had. Clarke is loath to admit it but spending time with Raven was exactly what she needed to de-stress after the day she had. When the food arrives they cuddle on the bed and put on some old re-runs of Parks and Recreation. Clarke falls asleep quickly and Raven, being the kind of sensible, put-together human that she is, makes sure all the food is cleared from the bed before joining Clarke in dreamland.

 

*

 

She’s been working hard, spending hours in the gym after training long after everyone else has already left. Aside from Bellamy, annoyingly enough. If anyone comes close to her intense training regimen, it’s him – right there with her at the gym. They don’t speak, just workout with music blaring from the sound system.

The first time he gets to the gym before her, he plugs his phone in and she suffers through three songs by three different rock bands she has never heard of before she marches over to pull out the aux cord.

“Hey!”

“Your music is shit, Blake.”

“Your face is shit, Griffin.” His face is red as he racks the barbell.

“Great comeback, genius.”

She queues up her techno playlist, the bass reverberating through the room. Bellamy is scowling but she ignores him as she steps back under the squat rack. Surprisingly, he doesn’t go over to put his music on, continuing with his next set of bench presses.

Clarke tries not to stare for too long at the way his biceps flex with each rep or how his skin glistens with sweat because that would be extremely inappropriate and she definitely does not see him like that. She has basically no willpower at this point in the day though so she sneaks a few glances because really, who’s it going to hurt?

It’s unfortunate then that he chooses that exact moment to take a break, sitting up and catching her staring at him openly. His lips quirk in that infuriating smirk and Clarke wonders for the billionth time if she could maybe get away with murdering Bellamy Blake.

“See something you like, rookie?”

“Something I’d like to murder slowly with my bare hands, yeah,” she mutters darkly.

He bursts into laughter so loud it startles her and she gapes at him like a buffoon. She’s never heard him laugh. The sound is pure, unadulterated joy. It makes her heart flip weirdly in her chest.

 

*

 

The first game of the season doesn’t go to plan. Inevitably, there is an incredible amount of hype about whether Clarke will start the game. Major media outlets speculate for days and paparazzi camp outside her hotel, tabloids publishing mundane pictures of her getting coffee or returning from training.

So when Pike announces the starting 11 and she’s on the bench, she tries not to be too disappointed. The match is sold out, despite being against a solidly mid-table team, and Clarke can’t stop her leg from bouncing as the referee whistles for kick off. Her nerves are out of control and her heart is in her throat every time one of her players lunges for the ball or jumps for a header. She has to physically stop herself from running on to the pitch when Wells crumples to the ground, holding his shin, rolling from side to side. The referee stops play, but Wells signals that he doesn’t need medical attention and after a few hopping steps, he goes back to running normally again. Her heartrate decreases by a fraction and she forces herself to pay attention to the football itself, lose herself in it as she normally does. The away team have resorted to a five-man defence, letting Arcadia keep possession whilst they sit back, happy to intervene as soon as an Arcadia player gets close to the 18-yard box.

Despite their rampant control of the midfield, there are too many players to get through for a shot on target. Collins manages one, but the goalkeeper stretches at the last minute and knocks it out from mid-air. In the end, Miller makes a run down the left wing and Bellamy with his hyper-awareness of all of his teammates, sends a threaded through ball that lands right at Miller’s feet. It is an almost impossible pass that makes the crowd hum in appreciation. Miller crosses the ball into the penalty box when he spots Collins’ run, who headers the ball into the back of the net.

The crowd erupts, the noise deafening as their players jump on each other in a group celebration. Her gaze wanders to Bellamy, as he smiles widely, none of the condescension when he speaks to her on his face. Clarke’s stunned by how truly handsome he is when his face is filled with joy like this and her heart gives a little tug, some part of her wanting desperately to see him smile like that again and another part of her desperate to be on the pitch, part of the team.

At half time in the dressing room, Bellamy takes charge, speaking in a way she hasn’t ever heard him – full of authority and purpose. She finds herself so enthralled that she thinks she might jump from the top of the stands if he asked her to in that commanding tone. He so fully believes in his footballing principles, it’s both revolutionary and slightly insane. Pike implements a few tactical changes, but doesn’t mention wanting to put Clarke on so she stays quiet.

There’s ten minutes left on the clock when Pike finally tells her to warm up and she does everything she’s supposed to on the sidelines to raucous applause from the stadium. The fans are bleating for her to come on, having already coming up with a chant, singing “Clarke Griffin, she’s one of our own!” over and over.

Eventually, in the 84th minute, Pike subs off Monty for Clarke and she finds herself stepping onto the pitch for her official debut. Momentarily dazed, she almost misses the ball hurtling towards her from Wells. Almost immediately, there is a player from the opposing team trying to press and take the ball from her, but she pirouettes effortlessly away from him. Bellamy is on her right, gesturing and she understands after a beat that he wants her to pass to Jasper and not to him. She keeps misplacing passes though, the nerves getting the better of her as she gets too into her own head and second guesses herself.

“Doing good, rookie. Don’t get flustered, you got this.” He says gruffly a few minutes later, as he jogs past her for a free kick, patting her on the shoulder. Bellamy’s reassurance settles into her bones and she tries to ground herself but it’s only another minute before the referee blows the whistle for full time. They’ve won the game but Clarke can’t help but feel disappointed in herself – she had been so far below her best, capable of so much more. The voice in her head that tells her she’s worthless and didn’t earn her spot is louder than the roar of the stadium.

Dejected, she walks past her teammates with her head down. She doesn’t get far before someone’s arm is around her shoulders, roughly pulling her into a wiry male body.

“Whoa Griffin, where you going?” Jasper shouts in her ear.

“Home, why?”

“No way!” Monty is on her other side, grinning widely. “First game of the season and we won…and we now have two weeks until the next one, which means drinks are on Cap!”

Jasper is still full of energy, despite having played a full 90 minutes and soon his attention is diverted to one of their other teammates, and he bounds off towards them, Monty on his heels. Clarke feels like she should just go home, she has no idea where they all go to hang out and she’s sure most of them probably don’t want her there but…it would be nice to actually do something to relax and get her mind off things.

“You coming, Griffin?” Bellamy asks, walking past her, one eyebrow raised. She’s too stunned for a moment to answer, but recovers in time to nod her assent and fall into step with him. To his credit, he doesn’t speed up and Clarke takes it as a good sign.

She’s doing this, she is going to bond with her teammates. The cynical voice of reason in her head is already cursing her naivety for thinking they will ever see her as an equal, but for once she pays it no heed.

 

*

 

 

A few drinks in and Clarke has already obliterated both Miller and Lincoln at darts, lost an arm wrestling battle to Jasper and won herself bragging rights for downing the most shots of tequila. She collapses on the bar stool next to Bellamy, leaning closer to him than she would if she wasn’t this buzzed.

“Hey Cap,” she manages without slurring.

He turns to look at her, his concern barely disguised by the smirk he directs her way. Strands of his dark hair is matted to his forehead by sweat and Clarke resists the urge to push it back with her fingers. Bellamy’s eyes are clear and evidently he’s barely sipping the beer in his hands. It really is unfair how handsome he is, Clarke thinks, the low light of the bar casting shadows on his sharp cheekbones and highlighting the cupid’s bow of his full lips. Clarke finds her gaze stuck there, sure she’s probably drooling but she still can’t look away. She’s having inappropriate feelings about her captain, holy fucking shit.

“Hey rookie,” he sounds almost fond, which startles her as she’s taking a sip of her drink, making her choke ungracefully. Without even faltering, Bellamy is thumping her back and she can feel the heat of his large hand through the thin material of her tank. Her mind goes in an inappropriate direction again and she flushes, hoping he thinks it’s from choking on whiskey.

“You good?”

She merely nods in response.

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself about the game,” Bellamy turns back towards the bar, trying to mask his sincerity. “You did okay.”

“I could have done better.”

“And you will. Next time.”

“Right. Thanks, Cap.”

“Sure,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry for being a bit of a dick to you.”

Clarke shrugs, “It’s fine. Like I said, I’m used to it.”

He scoffs in frustration, “But you shouldn’t have to be. Don’t get me wrong, you are here because you’re privileged and you have connections and maybe if you were a guy you wouldn’t be here. But that doesn’t mean you’re talentless. You can play football. You’re not the best, but you’re still young.”

Bellamy takes a long sip of his beer and Clarke is not sure but she thinks he feels embarrassed about the speech he just gave. She raises her glass of whiskey towards him.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers, here’s to you rookie.”

**Author's Note:**

> AND IT'S OUT THERE IN THE WORLD. Wow. Okay. I'm gonna beg y'all for feedback now, thanks! 
> 
> I know not everyone likes or watches football (it is, sadly, my life though) so if you feel like I'm being heavy on the jargon please let me know.
> 
> Also, next chapter will have a Bellarke kiss! OOOOOOO!


End file.
